Sometimes you reach a point in your life where you’re just like “hey, I’m crazy, but I don’t care! I am what I am b**tches!!!” You embrace it, accept it, write a blog about it, and act like you love your disease, whatever it is* I mean, here I am writing an entire freaking public blog that my boss and my mom can read, and yet, I just really don’t care. I know I’m not my disease and I know it does not define me, but it can control me and then I get out of control.**
So being the hermit that I am, I never go out. Like, ever. I’m so much of a hermit that I could have gone home on my break to write this post because I really wanted to but I settled for sitting in the corner of the grocery store next door being the worst vegan ever. I guess I could sit in my car, but there’s no wifi probably. ANYWAY. I have to mentally prepare myself the week ahead for anything that requires social interaction like bars, clubs, even going on dates. An example of last week with that kid in my life (he wishes to remain anonymous from now on, YOU’RE WELCOME “BLOB”):
Blob: Want to go see Deadpool on Sunday and go to the Judge’s Bench on Monday night?
me: Um. No. I want to avoid everyone and hang out with my cat.
Blob: Can I avoid everyone with you?
me: THATS NOT AVOID “EVERYONE”
Blob: Ok.. Let me know when you want to hang out
me: WAIT BUT WE CAN BE HERMITS TOGETHER. Don’t you know my rules about going out? Week’s notice, sir.
Blob: No.. that’s a new rule. So I’m not a person now because I don’t constitute “everyone”?
More or less. My short term memory is pretty shot. But now you know, Blob, WEEK’S NOTICE. SEND ME AN INVITATION IN THE MAIL. Or email. Or make a facebook event. That’s kinda like invitations now and they go out WAYYYYY in advance. Plenty of time. It’s perfect. I love our generation just sometimes.
So I had a solid 2 or 3 weeks to prepare for this night out. I actually got excited about it to the point I was almost manic (wow maybe I should get out more). And I told myself (because I was driving myself) that I’d just get 2 drinks, enough to get a little tipsy and be able to talk to people without accidentally rambling about taxidermying my rat (that’s not a word either?) Cut to the part where I’m 10 drinks in and sitting on the floor of a bar because I literally just fell over. I should have cut myself off when nothing would stay in focus for longer than half a millisecond. But being the alcoholic that I am.. 10 drinks. Ok that’s a lot. I weigh 111.4 pounds (as of 5 days ago) so 10 drinks in me? You do the math.
And that’s when the voices kicked in. The voices of my alternate personalities. Alice wanted to stay out, drink more, fuck more, dance more. Isabella wanted to go outside and scream. Delilah just wanted to go home.*** It turned into a screaming match in my head and then me stumbling/running to the bathroom to try and collect myself. There is nothing that will make you feel more insane than being in the bathroom of a bar screaming at yourself to shut the fuck up while banging your head against the wall and just generally screaming. I can’t believe I actually remembered this, but I guess it was a pretty prominent moment in my evening.
I’m now out in my car writing this post. The wifi reaches this far! I’m so happy! I can sit in my little cocoon and write. If only I had my cat. And some wine. Anyway, continuation..
Yes, I did make it home safe. After the bathroom episode, I literally ran back to my car, where I texted my friend asking me to pick me up since I couldn’t drive. No answer. So I took a 5 hour nap, woke up mostly sober, and drove through Baltimore and ended up in the ghetto at 5am because I couldn’t find my phone and I was really relying on Siri to guide me through these dark and difficult times.****
Cut back to my initial topic. Integrating. It really sucks. I always wanted to be integrated because it’s really hard to explain to your coworker that Alice yelled at her to fuck off at work and that totally wasn’t me (I’m still sorry about that Sara). But now, I feel everything that my alters feel. Feelings suck. I really don’t like them and I don’t know what to do with them. I haven’t felt in so long that I forgot what it was like to even feel human. It’s like sorting laundry. Sometimes you don’t know where to begin. I still don’t know. I’m out of control to the point that it’s scary. I don’t trust myself because who knows what will happen every single day of my life. I have to be 7 different people all at once. I know how to socially deal with the feelings, I’m not a sociopath (Ok I am just a little bit, or used to be. That’s probably why Blob and I get along so well.*****). But what do people do with their feelings? How to really experience these? I’m still learning to be human again. It’s like rebirth, but I’m 22 years old and I’m a psychological disaster.
I’ll be ok though. I always end up being ok. I can be a wallflower. What gets me through the day? This really simple quote I found when I was going through one of my rough patches in high school:
Everything will be ok in the end. If it’s not ok, it’s not the end.******
*My therapist says I have general anxiety disorder. I think she’s lying. I get depressed a lot. And I have multiple personalities. And I might be an alcoholic. Whatever. I said in my first post that I’m just Emily so we’ll stick with that.
**Out of control Emily is scary. It doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s terrifying. Maybe just to me cause I didn’t know I could act like that. I won’t get too specific in this unpurposeful subnote (unpurposeful is not a word? Goddammit spellcheck)
***I haven’t transitioned in at least a month now and my therapist thinks I’m “integrated.” I didn’t know integration sucked so much. I don’t even like myself anymore really. It’s this awful combination of being an introverted extrovert AND and extroverted introvert. Exhausting to even comprehend how that works. Mental integration, by the way, not social. Don’t condemn me.
****I did find my phone. Did you know that the “Find my iPhone” feature actually works?? Like damn. Technology is cool, man. I love this generation.
*****You know you’re a sociopath. It’s ok. Love you.
******If you really are curious what DID (dissociative identity disorder, formerly and more commonly known as multiple personality disorder) is, just watch The United States of Tara on Netflix. It’s spot on.